


Occam's Razor

by Spatz



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Gen, Genderswap, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-27
Updated: 2010-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatz/pseuds/Spatz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new tech takes three days to figure out Cougar is a woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occam's Razor

**Author's Note:**

> Cougar genderswap ridiculousness, because apparently [complaining about the gap in the genre](http://spatz.dreamwidth.org/63555.html) made my brain decide _I_ should write it. Thanks to [inmyriadbits](/users/Inmyriadbits) for the beta, and for laughing in the good way.

The new tech takes three days to figure out Cougar is a woman, and only then because he asks to borrow her razor.

"Excuse me?" Cougar says, looking up from her rifle.

"Cause, like, you're so clean-shaven, and unless you've been using one of Roque's knives - which I have been reliably informed _are_ actually razor-sharp but still, that does not sound like a good time - you must have a razor stashed away somewhere, and I forgot mine and this-" he gestures dramatically at his face, "doesn't just happen. So can I borrow yours?"

"I don't have one." The rest of the team is pretending not to watch, but she can see Pooch already shaking with silent laughter. _Pendejos_. She knows why they're letting this _estúpido_ conversation continue, and it's not because Pooch doesn't want to share _his_ razor.

Corporal Jensen was assigned to this mission at the last minute, without Clay's authorization. His record is familiar to all of them: discipline problems and chronic insubordination, matched only by his capability as a special forces soldier and hacker. His many attempts to "bond" over the last few days have been entertaining, to say the least: the conversation he struck up with Roque about knife-throwing was a particularly bad misfire, although this one might beat it. Cougar remembers her own early days with the team, choking on awkwardness but desperately wishing to belong. She had definitely talked less than Jensen – barely spoke at all, until Clay started joking that they weren't no goddamn Marines, and "Swift, Silent, Deadly" really shouldn't apply to field comms.

Jensen has that same hunger and the skills to be a Loser, but he'll only be one of them when Clay says he is, and they need to see his reaction to serving with a woman on the team. This is a test, an important one.

That it's also hilarious is just a bonus.

"What, seriously? You haven't really been using Roque's knives, have you?"

"No."

He looks confused. "Do you...have some sort of mutant anti-hair-growing ability?"

"Only if you count being a woman," Cougar drawls.

The team cracks up, and she watches with interest as the poor kid turns bright red. For the first time since he joined the group in Amatenango, he's speechless.

Predictably, that doesn't last long.

"Ha ha, very funny, guys. Last time I checked, Special Forces didn't accept women," he said. His eyes are already tracking down to her chest, though, like he was going to see something he hadn't before.

"But the Losers do," says Clay, still chuckling. "I wasn't about to let a sniper like Cougs get away that easy. We may have, ah, adjusted Cougar's record slightly, to encourage the bureaucrats to see it our way." He grins, sharp and satisfied. "Officially, this is an all-male unit."

"And it's almost true! We're just missing a dick," Pooch says.

"Just one?" Cougar murmurs. She's still watching Jensen, whose face is curiously unreadable. Another first. Jensen is clearly skilled at distracting people with the unfiltered _tonterías_ that comes out of his mouth, but he's also lost every game of poker they've played over three days.

"My dick isn't missing, Jolene just has it in protective custody," Pooch protests, playing out the joke, but he and the others are watching Jensen closely.

Jensen's eyes dart around the loose circle formed by the conversation, noticing the careful attention the guys are trying to play off as casual. His face shifts – wariness, and then slowly into something like hope.

"So..." he says, shifting his weight, a hesitant smile on his face. "No razor?"

Instead of replying, Cougar smirks and offers up her largest knife, hilt-first. The guys burst into laughter, Jensen loudest of all, grinning like he's won some sort of prize.

Looking around at her team – snickering and jostling each other and probably planning to tease Jensen about this for the rest of time – Cougar thinks that he has.


End file.
